South Park Oneshots
by Zarah McQuade
Summary: Style, Stenny, Keneric, Crenny, Bunny, Gregstophe, Kyman, K2, Lienny, Creek, Cleek, Cryde, Stendy
1. I Sing Songs About The Past

I Sing Songs About the Past

A South Park FanFic

Oneshot

"Kyle. I love you."

I froze up. It wasn't like I didn't expect this soon, but it was still pretty random.

I should have known it would be around now. I mean, apart from that one little break, we'd been together for three years now, and he'd never said it.

When I was five, and we met on the first day of kindergarten, I never would have thought we'd grow up to be together...in this way.

_"Hey, I'm Stan."_

_I looked up from where I was playing with my blocks on the floor. All the kids in there were bigger than me, and this one was no exception. _

_"Kyle." I answered, looking back at my blocks. I didn't want someone else making fun of me._

_"I like your hat."_

_That suprised me. My hands reached up to tug at my hat flaps. Even back then I had a little Jew-fro. Nowhere near as huge as it was now, but still, I'll bet I had the biggest hair in the place._

_"I like yours." I told him. It wasn't a lie. I wanted the little red poofball. _

_"Thanks." He sat down beside me and picked up two blocks, beginning to make a tower beside mine. "Wana switch?"_

_I was noddding before I could stop myself. He pulled off his hat. He only had a few curls of ebony hair back then. When I didn't move, he took off my hat too._

_"So fluffy!" Came an excited, muffled voice. And then someone threw themselves at my hair._

_It was Kenny. He was an outcast too. He played alone. Recently, he'd been joined by the new kid. A fat kid, with cute chubby cheeks. _

After Kenny attacked my hair, we had all laughed. I couldn't believe I could still remember this, but I did. Stan was running his fingers through his hair nervously. The words had barely escaped from his lips when he started looking nervous.

I smiled, and he looked a little more hopeful.

I remembered that look.

_Around three years ago. We were hanging out at Stan's and things had gotten quiet._

_I had known by then for a long time. That I was gay, I mean. I had also known that I liked Stan. I wasn't in love with him or anything, not yet, but I wouldn't mind if he felt for me._

_I looked up from the floor. I'd been twiddling the analogues on Stan's XBox controller. He was watching me. I blushed._

_"What's up?" I asked, looking back down._

_"You can come sit up here, you know."_

_I obliged, sitting beside him on the bed. Only now, I had nothing to occupy my hands, and so my fingers started drumming. On the bed, on my knees, on my hat._

_Stan caught my wrists, and the sudden touch made me jump. I'd been lost in my own world, but now my world consisted of only Stan's eyes. They were amazing. Deep pools of blue. Not typical blue, baby blue, but dark blue, navy._

_"Kyle." Stan said. He always did that. Before he said something, he said my name. As a seperate sentance. Like it was important that it was me he was talking to, like he had to establish that._

_"What?" I asked. I wasn't nervous. I had no clue what was going on. I was just wondering why he hadn't let go of my wrists._

_Then he kissed me._

_It was just a small kiss, just one to let me know what was going on. I jumped up, backing into the wall._

_"W-What the-?"_

_"Shit! Shit,shit,shot! I'm sorry!" Stan cried, his hands over his face. He stood up, too. His hands began to run through his hair, pushing his poof-ball to the floor. _

_My mind had needed time to adjust. But now that it had clicked, and I'd realized that Stan _must _feel for me, a huge smile was starting to form._

_Stan saw the smile. Stan looked hopeful._

_I strode across the room and allowed him to take me in his arms._

I wonder why he hadn't said it that day, that day we admitted to eachother what we both already knew. Or maybe on the dates we went on after. Even when we had been sitting watching TV together. Why now? Why wait three years.

Thinking it over, it wasn't like he hadn't tried before.

_Stan dropped the last box on the floor and turned to me, dusting off his hands._

_"All done. Now all we have to do is unpack." He laughed. Stan and I weren't nervous around eachother anymore. It had been a year since that first kiss, and we were moving into our first apartment. Together._

_I laughed too, looking around at the many boxes, stacked at random points around the small rooms. There were no doors, only archways, so I could see everything from the centre of the living room._

_"Kyle."_

_There he went, doing it again. By now, I had learned to listen when he did that. I stopped staring around and looked him in the eyes. I thought he was going to give a speech about how this was our new home/new life...which I was kind of pissed about. Wasn't I the one with the extensive vocabulary, the one who had the capacity to keep a speech going? I was always the one with the speech, and Stan always the one to listen._

_But I listened anyway._

_"I think I...I mean, I know I-I-"_

_A knock at the door. Stan jumped. I frowned and glanced at my watch._

_"Who the heck...?" I wondered to myself. I walked down the hall to the door. In truth, I was a little relieved. I knew what Stan had been about to say, and I wasn't fully ready for it. Yes, I knew it had been a year, and of course I knew I loved Stan, but...Saying it was such a scary thought. That meant he knew how I felt and could easily break my heart if he felt like it._

_When I opened the door, I was surprised to find Kenny standing there. His hood was down and he was rubbing the back of his neck, like he was nervous._

_"Hey, Kyle." He grinned at me._

_"Oh, hey, Ken, what's up?"_

_"Was wondering if you needed any help?" He asked. He brought his hand from the back of his neck. Some red substance covered his fingers. I breathed in through my teeth, but turned away, hiding it from him._

_"Yeah, sure, come on in." I told him, stepping aside._

_"Can I..." He looked nervous again. He must have seen me notice his injury. "Can I use your bathroom first?"_

_I pointed him in the right direction, told him the toilet paper was in a labelled box. He headed down the hall, swerving to avoid boxes. The back of his bright hoodie was stained dark with blood._

_I shivered, picking my own route through the boxes to join Stan back in the living room._

_"Who was it?" He asked._

_"Just Kenny. He's gona help us unpack. If you don't mind?" I asked sheepishly. We lived together now, I supposed I had to ask._

_"Yeah. Yeah sure." _

_"Oh, and Stan?" I turned and took his hand. "Don't mention his jacket."_

_"Why?" Came Stan's reply. But then Kenny entered the living room, eyeing the boxes. Stan took a hitching breath of his own, but Kenny ignored him and threw his bloodstained jacket on top of a pile._

_"So what's first?" He grinned, turning to us with his hands on his hips._

I shivered, and Stan's eyes narrowed. "Kyle, you don't have to say anything. I just...I thought you were ready to say it by now, I mean...I've been ready for a while."

I nodded, then I shook my head. "No, Stan, it's not that, it's just..." I looked around, and it felt like the first time. Only this time, there was no Kenny to interrupt us. And all the boxes were mine. Stan's stuff was already set up. Had been for a while.

"I know. Maybe I should have waited."

I shook my head again. I left the boxes and pulled Stan to the sofa. And all the while in my head, the guilt was stabbing away, making me remember.

_Stan was never around. I understood that I was-technically- the woman in the relationship right now, and that he had to work to keep up rent, keep us fed, stuff like that. But I was lonely, cooped up in the apartment all day. My only companion other than Stan was Kenny._

_He came over often. Mostly because he fought with his parents often. A lot of the time, he had an injury. When he first started coming over, he would hide them from me and go clean them up in the bathroom, but now he wasn't so shy. He told me what had happened and how he got them, he let me help clean him up._

_I became like a mother to him, or something. I'd feed him, do his laundry. He didn't look like the poor kid anymore. He just looked a little rough, what with all the black eyes. But he looked well cared for other than that._

_One night, he came over looking particularly worse for wear, and you could tell he knew it because he'd broken out his old parka and zipped it right to the top.  
As I was cleaning him up, I found myself telling him how much I loved having him around. How lonely I was when he wasn't._

_And then he kissed me._

_I don't know why I didn't stop it right then. I guess I was too lonely, plus I couldn't deny what I felt for Kenny. But it was never love. Never._

_I was stupid to think we could make something like that work. Really naive. Eventually, Stan caught us. It was in the worst possible way, too. We were in bed together. Our shirts were off. Kenny had just unbuckled his belt. It was obvious we weren't just heatedly making out. No, we were going all the way, and Stan knew that._

_Kenny left without a fuss. He looked a little flustered, but he told Stan he was sorry, and that he'd call in the morning, before he shut the front door._

_The sound echoed in the silence he left behind._

_It was just me. And Stan. Me, shirtless on the bed, tears in my eyes, an apology already on my lips but going nowhere. And Stan, standing in the doorway with a bar of my favourite kind of chocolate dangling in his hand._

_I pulled on my shirt and gathered some more in a bag. I didn't bother putting on socks. I just shoved my feet in my shoes and left, knowing that he wanted to see the back of me as quickly as possible._

_He didn't try to stop me, and I suppose that's what cinched it for me. It was over._

"I never wanted you to leave, you know."

Stan's voice reverberated off the walls of the living room. His arms were around me, stroking my stomach as I lay heavily on his side, my back to him.

"I wanted to stop you. I wanted to tell you to forget about it and just give you your freaking chocolate." He told me.

"Then why didn't you?" I asked.

"Because I wanted you to be happy. I assumed you were following Kenny."

I shook my head violently, my carefully contained curls coming loose and bouncing around my head. "I never saw him again after that. Not once. We talked on the phone. Told eachother how sorry we were. But I never saw him."

Stan wrapped his arms around me a little tighter. "I know. I saw you around, and you were never with him. That and the fact you looked so sad gave me hope that maybe you still loved me even a little."

"Not a little. A lot." I turned to him.

"I freaking love you, Stan Marsh. Always have...Always will."


	2. The One Where Cartman Isn't Himself

The One Where Cartman Is Not QUITE Himself

A South Park FanFic

OneShot

"Okay, Cartman, what the hell is it this time?"

Kyle's angry tone died when he looked up. He saw me, sitting there, and I knew how pathetic I must look. I hadn't been keeping up on hygene recently. My hair was unwashed, I was wearing the same clothes I'd worn everyday that week. Not that I cared, ususally. But I could've kicked myself right then, because now I did care. I should've gotten a shower before he got here.

"Cartman, what's wrong?" And although he still sounded annoyed (And a little suspicious. But of course, he had every right to be.), there was also a little concern in his voice, and that concern is what gave me strength to lift up my greasy head.

"Hi, Kyle." I said simply-geniously. He must've been amazed at my brilliant conversation skills. It was time to face facts: I was only a big-talker when I was insulting some kid who didn't deserve it.

Kyle sat down heavily on the bed beside me. When I didn't say anything, he sighed and stood back up, but only long enough to take off his coat. Beneath it, he wore an obviously old T-shirt, possibly one he wore as pyjamas. Again, I felt that he did it to make me feel better. I cleared my throat.

"I just needed someone to talk to." I told him.

"And you chose me." It wasn't a question. It was a rather blunt, rather sarcastic sentance. It was said in that 'I-should-have-expected-this' tone that Kyle can do so well. He and Stan both.

He and Stan He and Stan He and Stan

The phrase made me sink back into the hole a little more.

When I just nodded in answer to his non-existant question, Kyle grumbled something under his breath.

"Look, dude..." He sighed. It sounded as if he were pleading for me to be reasonable. As if I were, I don't know, Kenny or something. Like I was his pal, and not some schoolyard bully he hadn't talked to in months.

"Look..." He said again. I gave him time to marshal his thoughts. He seemed to need it.

"I don't know what your deal is..." He began eventually. "But just 'casue I'm...'Cause me and Stan are..." He seemed to be struggling with the word. I resisted the temptation to simply slide back into my old suit and say 'faggots'. Somehow I doubted that this would help my situation.

"Because Stan and I are gay," He blurted, both correcting his grammar and finally spitting out the word he was so afraid of. "It doesn't mean we can't try again."

This startled me. I was forced by something inside myself to look up into those eyes. I have never before in my life seen anything like the green pools of intelligence and wisdom that are Kyle Broflovski's eyes. They mesmorise me everytime.

I guess that's why I always honed in on the hair, the freckles, the...the...the Jewiness. I couldn't bring myself to look into those eyes and admit that I was falling in love with everything that I once hated.

That's right: I had fallen in love with Kyle Broflovski.

The hair? He chopped it off. Now only a few curls tickle the tips of his ears. I ran my hand through it once. Just once. I was teasing him about something. Something I can't remember now, and I touched the hair. Something I had been longing to do for a while.

The freckles? Like chocolate, scattered over his skin. Chocolate or sunlight. Pick your poison, either way I died on the inside whenever I pictured Stan counting Kyle's freckles...all his freckles.

"Try what again?" Barely a second had passed since I looked up and I had already registered all my favourite things about him. The perfect nose, the goofy hat...the goofier smile...

"To be friends, of course." Kyle offered.

The slow smile that had been forming on my face died. If there had been a light-any light at all- lingering in my eyes, it died. Right there, in that moment, I knew my childhood was a lie.

Dreams NEVER came true.

Kyle saw my newly formed scowl, watched as I scooted away from him. I didn't want to hear it.

"I don't want," I told him sternly. "To be friends."

Kyle stood quickly. He grabbed his coat from the floor, pulled it on. I watched in silence.

"Then I don't know what you want." He said coldly, turning to look at me, one hand resting on the doorknob.

And as he began to turn, I knew I had to do it.

"Kyle?"

Those eyes. I couldn't blame Stan for wanting him. Who could resist those eyes?

"I love you."

There was no hiding the shock that traveled over Kyle's face, but he tried. He tried to stop his mouth from falling open, but I heard his teeth grinding. He couldn't stop the blush anyway. The one spreading ever so sowly but surely across his cheeks. The perfect hue of pink to accentuate his freckles...and those eyes.

"W-what?"

I sighed and stood up. If he didn't want to listen, I wasn't going to resort to sitting on him and making him listen like I would have done three months ago. Instead, I would have to show him.

Reaching him at the other end of the room took no time at all, though I would have liked it to. There was no hiding the fact I was scared. Terrified, even. My hand shook as I took his wrist.

"You heard me." I breathed, and I put my mouth to his.

As I kissed Kyle (And it was weird because it felt like he was kissing me back...), I could have pretended I was kissing a girl. Really. My hand, at first, was in his hair, which was fairly long at the time, since it was growing out. But it traveled, ended up at his waist, following the curve of his stomach. His hip jutted out a little. His lips were soft and the little sounds he made as I deepened the kiss were very, very girly.

But I didn't pretend to be kissing a girl. I knew full well I was kissing Kyle and I liked it.

I was the one that pulled away. Not Kyle. Me.

And I said I was sorry.

"I'm really sorry Kyle." I said, and turned to walk back to my bed.

It was his turn to stop me from walking away.

"Eric."

It was weird, but I couldn't remember the last time he called me that.

"I...I need to call Stan first."

Comprehension dawned on my face. I looked at him, the light in my eyes probably burning a hole in my skull.

"You mean...?"

"Yeah. I love you too."

He shrugged as he pulled out his cell phone.


	3. Kenny's Happy Memory

Kenny's Happy Memory  
A South Park FanFic  
Oneshot

Kenny was not ususally the kind of person to sit outside a classroom and cry. But here he was, knees hugged to his chest and tears running down his cheeks.

Yes, he knew he was pathetic, but what could he do?

His drama teacher, Miss Day, came out and regarded him silently.

"Are you ready to come back inside?" She asked quietly.

Kenny simply shook his head. He didn't feel like talking, and he certainly did not want to join the several other crying students back in the hall.

Miss Day nodded. "When you're ready." She told him, and went back to her class.

Kenny hugged his knees tighter and sighed. He was glad there were no other classes nearby, glad there was no-one to see how much pain he was in.

He heard the rest of the class moving around and knew he had to hurry back. He told his friends he was going to the bathroom, but really he had asked miss Day to excuse him so he could come out here and cry.

_Stupid drama excercises. _He cursed.

Kenny was always sad, just not so anyone could see. He ususally kept his little crying jags for when he was alone, in bed or taking a walk in the woods. This time, however, he couldn't help it.

Miss Day had announced they were trying something new today. She had warned the class that some may find it upsetting, and gone on to explain they were going to draw on their own experience in order to make their acting better. However, it was subliminal, and the memories they accessed may affect them negatively.

She had encouraged anyone feeling particularly upset to just sit up and not think anymore. Kenny had thought he was untouchable, emotionless. He lay down and emptied his mind, not a hard feat, and waited for the first instruction.

Miss Day had started with objects, saying them to provoke memories involving them. Then she had moved onto emotions, and that's when shit got real.

The first had been shyness.

Silence.

Happiness.

Silence.

Sadness.

The sounds of several people sitting up and hitching breaths.

Kenny had stayed where he was, paralysed from the fear that gripped him.

Shyness, he hadn't been able to grasp a memory quickly enough before Miss Day moved on.

A happy memory had come to him all too quickly, one that he hadn't thought of in a while.

It was like he was there, like his body was tilting, pushing him back in time.

He was sitting on the floor of a familiar room, laughing harder than he had ever laughed before. Beside him were two boys. Stan and Kyle. They were laughing too.

The laughter was not awkward, as it really should have been. He and Kyle had only just gotten together, the group dynamic was all wrong, and Stan had been acting weird as shit.

But they were laughing hysterically at a joke that Kenny couldn't remember now.

Kenny was so high in that moment. He felt everything was going to be alright. It didn't matter that he and Kyle never kissed, it didn't matter that he was actually in love with Stan. It was going to work out.

Miss Day encouraged them to let their minds drift again, but Kenny was stuck, stuck with the pretty picture of Stan's laughing face.

A huge, looming thought slammed into his chest, ripping apart his fragile heart.

He would never be that happy again.

He would never, no matter how much Eric loved him, be as happy as, say, the moment when Stan confessed his love, and kissed him in the cold night, despite the fact that Kyle was just on the other side of his front door, putting on his shoes. He would never be happy like that again.

Not without Stan.

This was when the tears had begun. Miss Day went on to talk about sad memories, but this happy memory, Stan's laughing face, the fact he felt he was there, finally happy again, was enough to drive Kenny over the edge. He was stuck.

When Miss Day finally told them to let go, Kenny became unstuck and grunted something about the bathroom to Eric, who looked at him concernedly. To Miss Day, Kenny simply said he wished to be excused. Seeing the tears brimming in his eyes, she told him to wait outside.

Kenny lamented pathetically, sniffling. He remembered all the times Stan had took his hand in a seemingly friendly gesture, but it had still made his heart race, and the tears only came faster.

He had eventually, though, given up on Stan ever admitting his love. Heartbroken, he had eventually given in to Eric's demands and had sex with him. Kyle eventually found out, and the break up was awkward and messy, with complications. Kenny agreed to give Eric a try.

On the same night Stan confessed his love.

Kenny had cried and cried. His life was ruined. Being Kyle's best friend, Stan had to take his side. They had moved schools together, Kyle wanting to be as far away from Kenny as possible, Stan not wanting to see Eric slamming Kenny against lockers passionately. Last Kenny had heard, the two were dating.

Anger overtook sadness within him and he slammed a clenched fist to the wall. Standing, he lurched down the corridor as if drunk. He reached the bathroom stall just in time, and spilled his guts into the toilet bowl.

He sat on the cold tile floor and cried. He cried for himself, the wrongs he'd done to Kyle, to Eric.

But mostly, he cried because he didn't have Stan.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

That sucked, but I needed to get it out of my system Kenny x Stan is an amazing pairing and it's sucks I haven't written one before.


	4. Guardian Angel

Guardian Angel  
A South Park FanFic  
OneShot

It was dark. There were no curtains on the windows, and the bare moonlight ripped through the darkness to reveal the disgusting conditions of the room beyond the window. The wallpaper was drooping off the walls, and the carpet was mostly ripped up, and the parts that weren't were stained with God knows what. In the very centre of the tiny room lay a matress. Sitting on the mattress was a skinny girl, shoulders shaking as she sobbed into her lumpy pillow, only a thin blanket covering her knees.

She was too big now to fit the childs matress, too big to fit under the tiny blanket.

She was the only child now. Her oldest brother, who she hadn't cared for anyway, had died D.U.I. Her other brother had left six months ago. Before he had gone, he had kissed her and promised to come back.

She officially had no-one.

Except...

A tapping on her window made her look up, hope lighting up her face. She ran to the window and threw it open, allowing in the cloaked figure with a gust of freezing cold air.

"Karen." He said simply. She ran to him, clinging to his muscled body. He wrapped his thick, warm cloak around her and held her close, rocking her back and forth.

When Karen was smaller, she had thought he was her guardian angel. She was glad he wasn't. If that were true, he would stay the same forever. Karen was fifteen now, and he still towered over her as always. He made her feel small...loved...protected.

"Where did you go?" She sobbed, but he shushed her and stroked her hair.

Then.

Karen reached up. Quicker than he could react, she pulled his mask down, and his hood up.

Then she froze.

"Kenny?"

Kenny was her guardian angel?

Kenny, who sat with her until she fell asleep?

Kenny, who stood in front of her when her mother or father lifted their hands?

Of course it was Kenny.

"Come on, Karen." Kenny growled, and lifted her onto his back. "I'm getting you out of here."

And together, they flew through the night, and far away.

. . . . . . . . . . .

I know it sucked, but I feel very passionatly for Kenny /3 I wish he was my guardian angel.


	5. Being Me

Being Me  
A South Park FanFic  
One Shot!

Just want to say thanks for those reviews guys (: I appreciate it a whole lot

I woke up slowly. My eyelids fluttered, squinting in the bright light filtering in through my grimy window.

Eventually, I was able to sit up. I coughed and hacked a little, unfit as I was.

Standing, I allowed the thin blanket to float away from my naked body. I spotted myself in the mirror and smirked at my reflection. There was a bruise on my cheekbone-Hey! That was new!

I wandered around a little, stumbling over little piles of whatever on my floor. I came across some clothes, sniffing them before deciding to wear them.

I watched myself as I dressed. My blonde hair was all mussed up, as per usual. I blinked my big blue eyes and tried for a smile. But it was too early.

I pulled the off-white vest over my head, and the greying boxer shorts up my skinny legs. I admired myself for a moment, noticing how these clothes made my skinny little body look so different. In an instant, I went from looking small and pathetic, to big and tough. All because of a bruise below my eye, and a dirty vest.

I plucked up the bright orange jeans next. There were a few grease marks on the thighs, mud on the parts that overwent shoes and trailed in the dirt. But I didn't mind. After all, this just kept up the image.

Finally, on went the parka. The same parka that had been a constant companion over the years. I slipped it up my arms and pulled the zip right to the top. It was so huge on me. It covered my mouth and nose, and caught on my eyelashes.

The hood went up, and covered my eyes completely.

I heard the door open.

"Butters?" Came his familiar voice.

"I Cmph Gt Mmph!" I yelled.

Kenny giggled and pulled the zip down and the hood off in one motion.

"Butters, you're meant to be sick. Why are you playing dress up?"

I blushed and began kicking off the jeans.

"G-Gee, I'm sorry Kenny. I just wanted to be like you, is all..." I trailed off.

Kenny kissed me softly and laughed some more.

"Now why would you wana do a thing like that?"


	6. Hospital

Hospitals  
A South Park FanFic  
Oneshot!

It's a regular thing for us to spend most of our Sundays in the hospital. Our nights out usually result in someone getting injured. Most of the time, it's Stan. Stan has spectacularly bad luck, and his ankle, both his arms, and his nose have been broken on several occasions. When it isn't Stan, it's Eric, crying like a baby after getting too macho with a guy in a bar and ending up in a fight.

Even I've had my fair share of accidents, though not as severe. Usually I bang my head falling over a trash can and have to stay overnight in case of concussion.

This time though, it's serious.

Kenny _never _gets injured. It's weird. It's like all the bad luck he had when he was younger has just reversed. He gets all the girls (Though he never touches any of them-Hard to believe right?), he's never in fights. I don't think he's ever had a bad hair day or a zit.

But last night was different. We were having our usual night, hitting all the best clubs.

Kenny was dancing in the middle of the street. It was a closed road, no cars were supposed to be around.

Then one came out of nowhere and hit him.

We'd been on our way home, so it was just me and him. I called the ambulance. I've been here hours. I got a little bit of sleep a while ago, but I'm real worried. Kenny's in there man, behind that mint green door. He's in a fucking coma.

Who's this? Oh, it's Stan. Not Kenny's parents then. You think someone would have told them by now.

Stan gives me a huge hug, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. I'm okay now, Stan always makes me feel better.

"What happened?" Stan asks, and I quickly fill him in on last nights events. He's soon biting his lip and staring at the door too.

"What did the doctors say?"

I shug. I can't speak, there's a huge lump in my throat. That's Kenny in there, dying.

The doctor emerges from the room and Stan and I become suddenly alert.

McCormick?" He asks. I nod vigourously, praying that it's good news.

"Relatives?" He drawls. I shake, the flaps of my ratty old hat bobbing.

"Sorry, then, you'll have to leave." He tells us, raising his eyebrows. "Only relatives are allowed information on our patients."

"He doesn't _have _family!" Stan cries, holding out his arms.

"Yeah, we're the only people he has." I add, tears beginning to roll down my cheeks again.

The doctor looks at us as if we're pathetic, but sighs and flips the papers on his chart.

"He's stable. He should be able to sleep it off, but he will have to stay in the hospital for a few weeks."

Stan lets out a huge breath that ruffles his fringe. I lean heavily on his shoulder and grin, tears flowing freely now.

"He'll need to stay in bed for the first two weeks or so. Then he will be allowed to be carted around in a wheelchair."

Stan stiffened. "Permanently?"

"No,no, just temporarily. He will need to have therapies to help him walk again, but he will, with no severe lasting damage."

Stan relaxes again, and wraps an arm around my shoulders.

"Can we see him?" I ask, choking a little.

The doctor nods, and stands aside so we can enter the mystery room.

Kenny is lying in the bed, looking ridiculously bright in the dismal setting. His orange parka is slung over a chair beside his bed, but his T-Shirt is orange also, and I'm pretty sure his jeans too. A dark red stain is splattered across his left side. I wince, remembering the sound of impact.

Two chairs are stationed behind the door. I'm exhausted, so I collapse straight into one. Stan goes over to Kenny, and I watch him examine the machines, check everything's in order, before he comes to sit beside me.

I lean my head on his shoulder, and he rests his chin in my hair. He strokes my back rhythmetically.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Kenny's machine...

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

There's a huge crash outside, a loud obnoxious voice. I stir, trying to disentangle myself from Stan's limbs without disturbing him.

"I don't fucking care what you have to say, I'm going the fuck in there!" Comes the voice.

The door crashes open. I hold perfectly still, afraid Kenny has died, that this is the doctor come to try and save him.

But it isn't. Eric Cartman is stumbling into the room. He doesn't notice Stan and I sitting here. He runs straight over to Kenny and stares down at him with wide, afraid eyes.

Cartman's afraid? What the...?

Then all of a sudden he's back to cool and collected, the Cartman we all know. He regards Kenny with unconcerned eyes, no tilt to his lips.

Then he raises an eyebrow and reaches out. At first I think he's going to do something stupid like prod Kenny's nose, but he picks something up off Kenny's chest. It glints in the harsh lights attatched to the ceiling.

I squint. It looks like Kenny is wearing a necklace. From here it looks like half a heart.

Then I remember. The BFF necklace. I didn't know they still wore those things. Weird they would after all this time.

I watch as Cartman reaches beneath his own shirt and pulls out the other half.

His uncaring expression melts into a cheesy smile. He puts a hand on either side of Kenny and leans down carefully, trying not to move him.

My eyes widen as Cartman presses his lips gently but firmly to Kenny's.

"You're gona be okay, Ken." He whispers. "I'm here now."


	7. Stop Thinking With Your

Stop Thinking With Your...  
Gregstophe, mwahaha!  
A/N: Sorry this isn't as innocent as my other fics. But as soon as I think 'Gregstophe' I think 'Sex'

It was hard to entertain females when your flatmate was an utter slob. This was something Gregory knew, but could not accept.

As usual, here was a lovely girl, all dressed up, sitting on the couch, and Gregory could not invite her into his room, because Christophe was holed up in there, curtains drawn, probably beneath his blankets, or, even more embarrassingly, in a tent on the floor, telling himself ghost stories because Gregory refused to join him.

"I had a lovely time." Gregory assured his lady friend. She nodded and smiled and pecked his cheek. But it was obvious he'd lost another one.

Their room door opened onto Christophe's side, which was littered with discarded clothes and papers. The usual trail of muddy footprints led to the boots strung by their laces over his bedpost. The tent was pitched beside the bed, and Christophe's voice could be heard inside. He muttered in his sleep, and so Gregory could not, as of yet, be sure if his companion was awake. He didn't care to find out yet, instead picking his way gingerly across the floor to his side of the room, which was of course spotless. His papers were arranged neatly and in alphabetical order in his desk drawers, his shirts washed and ironed in his wardrobe. His bed was made, sheets pressed into the corners with almost military precision. Just the way he liked it.

He took off his shirt and pants. The shirt he discarded into the washbasket, which he noted to empty in the morning. His pants he folded and placed on his bedside table to wear again in the morning, as he had nothing planned for the following day. He would have remained in his pyjamas, but he, unlike Christophe, couldn't abide wallowing in his own filth all day.

"Where's your friend?" Came a gravelly voice from behind him. A small cry escaped Gregory's lips as he turned on his heel to find Christophe peeking out of his tent, and grinning madly.

"She left." Gregory replied tartly. Christophe began to chuckle, eyes running up and down Gregory's form. It was then that Gregory realized he had neglected to put on his pyjamas as of yet. He ducked his head and opened the top drawer of his bedside table.

Empty. Christophe's laughter increased. "You won't find them." He told him matter-of-factly.

"Christophe." Gregory warned. He held his hands over his chest, flesh raising in little bumps. The room was cold and dark, and Christophe's smirk was a menacing one. "Where are my clothes?"

"I 'id them."

"Where?"

"Eef I told you, that would ruin the surprise."

"Why would you hide my clothes?" Gregory held out his hands.

"Eet's fun."

Gregory sighed and moved to stand in front of Christophe. He wasn't embarrassed at his near nakedness, more the fact that Christophe knew just how to push his buttons. He held out an expectant hand. "Give them to me."

Christophe shook his head. "You 'ave to play with me."

"Ugh..." Gregory sighed, wiping a hand down his face. He didn't need this. "What do I have to play, exactly?"

"Slave."

Perfect.

"Fine."

"Get in the tent."

Gregory pushed his hand into Christophe's face and moved him out of the way of the entrance. He clambered in beside him, hating the fact that he was sitting in Christophe's usual filth. The blankets were covered in crumbs and sticky substances he didn't want to think about. Christophe's old teddy bear sat in a corner, one ear and an arm missing, patched up with huge, wobbly stitches Christophe must have executed himself.

"Now..." Christophe sighed, zipping the tent closed. The moonlight filtering through the curtains did not penetrate the thick walls of the tent, and Gregory was completely blind. When a warm, calloused hand landed on his thigh, he jumped away from it. Christophe chuckled softly and moved foreward. Gregory moved away, meeting with the corner of the tent all too soon. Christophe had him cornered. If Gregory could see him, he was sure his companion would be grinning like a fool.

"What are you doing?" Gregory spat out. He was becoming increasingly annoyed, but that's just because this was Christophe. He often played cruel games with him. He insulted him, he rearranged things Gregory had just set right. It seemed his sole purpose in life was to irritate his friend.

And Gregory loved it, though he would never acknowledge it, even in his own mind.

"I'm playing." Christophe breathed. His hand came down on Gregory's thigh once more, and Gregory attempted to remove it. "Ah ah ah!" Christophe whispered, stroking Gregory's face. Gregory froze up. Things like this happened often. After they had a playful argument, Christophe would lightly slap Gregory's cheek, and it would pause him for just a second. It wasn't the contact that was an issue. There was many a night you could find them rolling around, playfighting (Or just fighting) on the carpet. But it was this soft touch, this loving gesture, that made Gregory's heart freeze.

"Do me a favour?" Christophe asked, and Gregory nodded. He could see only Christophe's silhouette, his face barely inches from his own. "Put these on."

Christophe moved away, and Gregory felt several items fall into his lap. The first were his leather gloves, and he slipped them on. Second were some boots. On closer inspection, Gregory found they weren't his own, but boots with two inch heels and thick laces. He looked up at Christophe, waiting for explanation, but none came. He slipped the boots on. It wasn't like Christophe could see anyway.

The third item was small, like a band girls put in their hair. Gregory held it up, and Christophe cleared his throat. "It's a garter." He informed him, and Gregory felt himself redden. What was this? "For me?" Christophe pleaded.

Gregory assessed his situation. Here he was, in a tent with Christophe, who seemed to be playing some strange game with him. He was already wearing his gloves, and women's shoes. He was expected to put on a black lacy garter. What did Christophe intend to do with him then?

Suddenly, a firm hand gripped a hank of his hair and pulled. Gregory whistled in pain, pushing back to try and relieve himself of the uncomfortable sensation. "Do. Eet." Christophe ordered.

"Fine!" Gregory growled, wrenching Chrstophe's hand away and beginning to manouvre the garter over his new shoes. Christophe gave a grunt to show his pleasure, and sat back into the darkness.

Gregory sat back, the garter itchy on his thigh. He resisted the urge to run, held his ground. Christophe began moving foreward once more. But instead of coming to Gregory's face, he stopped halfway and leaned down. Gregory's breath hitched when Christophe laid his cheek against his shorts.

"So your friend left, did she?" Christophe asked conversationally, as if he were not nuzzling through Gregory's shorts. There was a shifting in his pants that Gregory did not like one bit. He could feel Christophe smiling.

"Yes." Gregory replied curtly, trying hard not to concentrate on what his friend was doing. This became even harder to do when Christophe slid his thumbs between Gregory's shorts and his skin. He shivered involuntarily.

"You were going to bring her in 'ere?" He drawled, tugging Gregory's shorts over his hips. Gregory reached down in a bid to stop him, but he slapped his hands away.

"Perhaps." Gregory admitted through gritted teeth. "If you hadn't have been here."

Christophe laughed. Gregory hated it when he laughed. His laughter meant someone else's misfortune. Usually his own. "Why do you think I stayed 'ome?"

Gregory frowned. Christophe finally managed to disentangle his shorts from the heels and grinned, though Gregory of course couldn't see. "Excuse me?" He asked, as if he weren't suddenly naked apart from gloves, boots and a whispy garter.

"Figure eet out." Christophe growled, before kneeling before him once more and bringing his head down against Gregory's lower belly. He felt the rise and fall of his stomach, remaining still for the shortest of whiles, before taking Gregory's penis in his hand, and stroking the tip softly. Gregory moaned, despite himself.

"I can fix this for you?" Christophe offered, referring to Gregory's undeniable erection.

"I'm-I'm quite al-alright." Gregory replied weakly, voice shaking.

"I don't think you are, my friend." He smiled, and began pumping his fist. Gregory shot forewards. Their heads knocked together. For a moment, both stilled.

Their mouths met.

Gregory had smooth skin, soft lips and a quick tongue. Christophe's lips were chapped, his skin bruised and scarred, and his kisses were rough and thoughtless. They were complete opposites, and it seemed impossible they would fit so perfectly as they did now.

Christophe continued his work on Gregory, and Gregory kissed him hungrily, gloved hands either side of his face. Eventually, Christophe placed a large hand aganst Gregory's chest and pushed him down into the blankets. He tore their lips apart and removed his hands from Gregory. Gregory let out a small whine in protest, but Christophe shushed him, and proceeded to remove his shirt.

Neither boy could see the other. The darkness blinded them. Gregory could not see Christophe's tanned, toned body, nor could Christophe see how small, pale and vulnerable Gregory looked in that moment. Just as well. Gregory liked to think of himself as strong, but compared to Christophe he looked positively weedy. The jealousy may have killed the romance of the situation.

Christophe removed his pants and disposed of them in the darkness. Gregory had an inkling of an idea of what was going on, and before Christophe could advance further, he held up a booted foot.

"Hold on." He muttered quickly. "You want me?"

Christophe whined. "Yes, now let me 'ave you!"

"Lick my boot."

"What?"

"I said lick it."

"You won't get your clothes."

"I can sleep without them. You, however, can't fuck me without my permission. Now lick."

Christophe sighed in frustration and stuck out his tongue, giving the boot a few tentative licks, though he knew it was clean. Gregory brought his foot up, forcing Christophe to take the heel into his mouth. Christophe smiled past the heel, and, knowing Gregory could see his outline, began sucking the heel, bringing it in and out of his mouth. Gregory appreciated this immensely, and took the heel away, reaching out to grab Christophe's hips and pull him down on top of him.

They kissed for a further few minutes, their hormones filling the tent and heating up the enclosed space. Within minutes the two were sweaty and sticky, but Gregory only minded the smallest amount. Usually he would be begging for a bath by now.

Christophe pulled back once more, throwing Gregory's legs over his shoulders. He gave Gregory a look. He didn't ask if he was ready, instead slowly sliding a single finger into him. Gregory stilled, though he felt the need to squirm. While Christophe waited for Gregory to be good and ready, he toyed with himself. Gregory felt this close to him and wished he could enjoy the view. But otherwise he was glad for the darkness, as he was sure the pure ecstacy on his face as Christophe explored his insides would make his friend laugh out loud.

Christophe teased in another finger. He seemed to be searching for something. Gregory, not being practised in the ways of gay sex, was not aware what it was he was looking for until something zinged inside of him, making him buck up and into Christophe's hand. Christophe smiled, running his fingers over Gregory's sweet spot again, getting off on the little sounds Gregory emitted when he did so. Eventually pushing in a third finger, Christophe desisted, just in case it was too much for Gregory, and simply set about stretching the smaller boy. Gregory had become a little uncomfortable when the third finger was introduced, and when Christophe next moved his hand back he protested any more. Christophe shrugged and pulled his hand out. Dispite feeling more comfortable, Gregory also felt empty. He wanted it back, that feeling of being full.

Luckily for him, he didn't have to wait long before Christophe was placing himself at his entrance. "Are you ready for me?" He asked sarcastically, and Gregory managed to find his arm to give a playful slap. Christophe began working himself inside of Gregory, and Gregory's back arched. It did hurt a little, but it was a good pain, and he could deal with it until the going got better.

When he was fully taken up by Gregory, Christophe paused. He held his pose for around thirty seconds, wanting Gregory to get used to having him inside him, before he began thrusting slowly, moving in and out of Gregory. It wasn't graceful, and it wasn't pretty, but Gregory seemed to appreciate it, if the way he clutched at Christophe's waist was any indication.

Christophe was not one for being loud during what he preferred to call 'love-making'. Occassionally, if it was very good, he would let out a grunt of appreciation. Gregory was the one providing the soundtrack. He moaned, he whined, he keened out Christophe's name on several occasions. Christophe enjoyed this thouroughly, and showed it by taking Gregory's dick in his hand once more, and pumping ferociously. Gregory's back arched once more, his fingernails digging into Christophe's skin. Christophe groaned a little as he climaxed, but continued pumping through the blind pleasure he was experiencing until Gregory came also, onto both his stomach and Christophe's hand. Christophe grinned and licked his thumb experimentally. His satisfied 'Mmm...' cut through Gregory's daze, and brought him back long enough to watch Christophe lick up the rest of his come. Gregory smiled and stroked the other boy's dark hair.

Christophe came to lay beside him in the darkness, crushing his back to his chest and nuzzling his neck.

"I must admit." Christophe whispered into Gregory's ear. Gregory shivered in pleasure at the feeling of his warm breath. "I 'ave been wanting to do zat for a while."

"I'm...Glad you did." Gregory replied, panting a little. Christophe chuckled a final time before lapsing into silence, kissing Gregory's neck, collarbone, jawline. Anywhere his lips could reach, he kissed, and Gregory lay back and enjoyed the sensation.

Eventually, Christophe drifted to sleep, still spooning Gregory, but not quite as tightly. Gregory took the chance to extract himself from Christophe's arms. He kissed his cheek lovingly before exiting the tent and throwing off the boots and the garter. He placed his gloves on top of his pants on the bedside table.

Gregory felt horribly sticky, sweaty, and particularly dirty. He decided a good shower was in order, even though it was somewhere around the middle of the night. He spent a long time under the steady stream of water, thinking back over the nights events with longing. He definately wanted more of this.

When he returned to their room, Gregory opened his top drawer once more and realized he still had no idea where his pyjamas were. He sighed and tugged the next drawer down. He would sleep in his underwear for tonight.

Upon opening the drawer, he discovered his pyjamas, stuffed roughly in there along with his neatly folded undergarments, as if a last minute decision on Christophe's part.

"Son of a bitch." Gregory cursed. "I truly hate you, Christophe DeLorne."

"I love you too." Came a snickering voice from the tent.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Hope you enjoyed reading that as much as I did writing it. Apparently Christophe likes to laugh during sex...


	8. Dreaming

Dreaming

_A blue hat on the floor. A bright green question mark; glowing. A figure in the window. Soft hands, running down my sides. Velvet gloves. A mouth...Lips...  
"Craiiiig..." My name. That's my name! In his amazingly deep voice. Moaning. For me. "Craig..."_

"Craig!" He snaps, bringing me out of my stupor. I jump. He isn't in the window, he's right next to me. Already.

"Sorry baby, I thought you were awake." He croons, stroking my hair. I close my eyes again, concentrating on his gentle touch.

I'm not usually like this. Usually, I hate it when people touch me, especially my hair, which is why I wear my hat. But he's different. He doesn't know me. He knows my body. But fuck if he knows what kind of guy I am.

Because if he did, no way would he visit me anymore. I'm a horrible person. Even my best friends hate me. I can tell. Ever since I struck out at them, ever since I fucked up, I can tell...Tweek twitches whenever I move. Clyde looks at me with tears in his eyes. And I can't take it. So I avoid them like the plague.

Instead, I wait in my room, with the door locked. I don't sleep nights, I wait. He only ever comes at night.

"Craig? You want me to go?" He whispers in my ear. I shake my head and pull off my shirt clumsily. He laughs, helping me out, slipping off his gloves. He stands, and I watch attentively as he slides off those gay-looking tights he wears. But God, I can't complain. He can't hide anything from me in tights.

He's already hard. I try not to stare while I kick off my PJ pants. They fall off the end of my bed and land on the floor somewhere, but right now I don't really care. He doesn't take off his tight purple shirt-thing, or his cape. He doesn't remove his eye-mask, and he doesn't put down his hood. All I know is his eyes are a piercing blue. His hair colour is a mystery to me.

But do I care?

No.

He takes my erection in his hand and strokes his thumb over the head softly, coaxing a moan from me. I can feel his smile, though my head is tilted back and my eyes closed. He does that to me.

I decide to return the favour, taking him roughly in hand and squeezing. He growls and pulls me foreward to land a kiss on my mouth, working his tongue in instantaniously. I respond by squeezing harder, which makes him thrust into my hand, only once. I smile into our kiss.

"Think you're funny, huh?" He says, and pumps my dick several times. I gasp and reel up off my pillows. He stops as suddenly as he started and I slap at his chest. I'm actually grinning. _Grinning. _I doubt anyone's ever seen me _smile_ before, apart from when someone else is in pain. Nevermind grinning like an idiot while getting a hand-job from a virtual stranger.

I lean in to banish negative thoughts of how my peers see me, and he licks my lips slowly. I groan, and he begins to pump again, not as ferociously as last time, but in steady, rythmic movements that I can deal with without making a fool of myself. He continues to lick me, with his pointed tongue. There's a stud in the middle of it, and he runs it over my bottom lip. I whimper and he laughs cruelly, loving the power he has over me.

He leans down to trail his tongue over my neck, my collarbone, my shoulders. I still have his dick in my hand, and I feel a pang of embarrassment that he is tending to me and I'm just sitting here taking it. So I begin to work him, which is a little awkward considering his looming position over me. He doesn't seem to mind, and thrusts jerkily into my hand, apparently trying to catch up. However, it's all in vain, as I can feel myself getting closer and closer to climax. It's probably my dick twitching that alerts him to the fact, and he speeds up considerably. I clamp my teeth down on his neck to avoid waking my parents or my sister, and he does the same, breathing quick and shallow. Maybe biting his neck wasn't a good way to keep him quiet...

I bite down harder, probably breaking the skin, as I buck up into his hand a final time, come flowing out of me and onto his hand. He continues to thrust into my hand for a while, before moving to kiss me fiercely and follow my lead. Our teeth knock together with the clumsiness of his movement, but this just makes it better, more animalistic, just...perfect.

I lie on the bed, breathing heavily. I watch him examine the shining liquid on his fingers. He sees me looking and grins, bringing his fingers to his lips and licking daintily. I squirm, wanting that tongue on me, not him. He seems to have the ability to read minds, as well as the power to bring earth-shattering orgasm, as when he has sucked his fingers dry he brings his head down and licks my stomach...then my crotch...and finally he brings his tongue to my dick and licks up, all the way to the tip. My body turns to jelly, and it's all I can do to rest my hands on his hood and let him finish.

As usual, he crawls up beside me and throws his cape over the both of us, tucking me into his arms. As usual, I fall into a dead sleep.

xXx

When I wake, he's gone. There are no tights on my floor, no velvet gloves caressing my face, no piercing blue eyes.

I trudge to school. I sit alone, walk alone, eat alone.

In eighth, and final, period, Kenny McCormick takes his seat beside me, and I do my best to ignore him, though he's preening and stretching and God knows what else to get my attention.

"Craig! Hey! Craig!" He hisses. I flip him the bird, willing him to shut up and leave me alone. I'm trying to think about last night. I'm wondering where he is now. Does he go to this school? Is he in any of my classes? Is he in _this _class? Jesus! I begin to peer around, looking for a familiarly piercing gaze.

"Craig Tucker, you dick sucker, look the fuck at me!"

I turn, if only to spit out some choice insults. I stop when I see what Kenny is doing, however. He's pulled his shirt collar out so I can see the place where his shoulder meets his neck. The skin is milky-white, apart from a bright red patch of raw-looking skin.

"I don't want to see your hickeys, McCormick." I tell him.

"But Craig." He simpers, leaning foreward and blinking those baby blues of his.

"What?" I sigh testily.

He hesitates. I watch him nervously.

"Nothin'." He replies, a huge grin spreading over his stupidly fucking perfect face.

And then he sticks out his tongue.

Resting in the middle of it is a silver stud.

"Fuck." I say.

He blinks a few times, and I stare. Kenny fucking McCormick has seen me naked. Kenny fucking McCormick sucked my dick last night.

He opens his mouth, I think to mock me.

And...

"You wana?"


	9. Music Meme Fanfiction Style

Music Meme South Park

Just discovered this,, so here you go. The deal is you put your iPod on shuffle and write a short story based on each song in a fandom you previously picked. I've obviously picked South Park...Enjoy (:

1. Girl All The Bad Guys Want-Bowling For Soup

Everybody likes Kenny. Kenny is hot, funny and so, so nice. To everyone. Even people who tell him he's a whore, a slut, he's poor. He just laughs and flips them off companionably. He just doesn't care.

And Kenny likes everyone right back. Throw a dart in this school, you hit someone Kenny has slept with...or someone who wants to.

There are only three people who have _not _slept with Kenny. Cartman, Stan...and me. And it's not for lack of trying on my part, that much I can tell you. I have always wanted Kenny. And he looks right through me. Because I'm 'such a good friend', and he 'loves me so much'.

I wish.

I try desperately to be like Craig or Tweek or Butters or anyone who Kenny has banged, but he just says 'Hey, nice hat' or 'Cool hairdo, bro'.

But he will be mine.

Oh Yes.

He will be mine.

(Lol Wayne's World!)

2. Stacey's Mom-Fountains Of Wayne

Kenny was constantly over at the Cratman house. Nobody really knew why, leased of all Cartman, who remained blissfully unaware that his mom was banging his best friend.

All the kids at school, upon reaching puberty, had realized just how hot Cartman's mom was. They commented on it constantly, few tried their luck. None were lucky enough. Bar Kenny.

Kenny didn't even have to try.

He was just sitting there one day, watching Cartman arguing with his mother, who had just emerged from the shower, bright red and dripping, wrapped only in a towel. Afterwards, Cartman had flipped his mother the bird and stomped off to his room. Kenny had felt the need to comfort the poor woman. It couldn't be easy having a son like Cartman after all.

After a few moments of comforting, murmured words, her towel fell from her dripping body.

Kenny considered himself the luckiest kid on Earth.

**3. Gives You Hell-All American Rejects**

A loud, booming knock on the door alerted me of a visiter. I checked my hair in the mirror, hoping it would be Cartman.

When I opened the door, I found Stan, swaying slightly, standing on my doorstep.

"Stan." I sighed.

"Kyle." He replied seriously. "Where is the love?"

"What love Stan?"

"The love, Kyle, the _love_! You used to _love_ me."

"Stan." I explained, for what felt like the hundreth time. "We kissed _once_, when we were drunk, at a party."

"Marry me, Kyle."

"Stan." He was clearly hurting me. He knew he was too, but he didn't care. Yes, there was a time when I was in love with Stan Marsh. But he broke my heart, married Wendy Testaburger, and became an alcoholic. "C'mon." I offered. "I'll take you home."

We drove in silence, Stan hicoughing every so often. We reached his house in minutes. Before he got out, Stan planted a single kiss on my lips, and my heart jumped to my throat.

"I love you, you piece of shit."

Then he left, and I went home and cried.

**4. Don't Trust Me-3oh!3**

"Drink?" Offered another drunk guy.

"Fuck you." I answered blandly.

"Fuck you harder." He grinned, thinking he was clever.

"Go away!" I yelled. He seemed to get the message and cleared off.

"Butters? That you?" Came a voice from behind me.

I turned to find a man about my age, wearing nothing but a pair of leather pants, and carrying a tray of martinis. "Kenny?" I asked, confused. Why would Kenny wear leather pants? He was a fashionable guy.

"Yeah, it's me!" He grinned. "I work here. " He told me, in explanation of the outfit. I nodded.

"So...you're a prostitute?"

"Shush!" Kenny face-palmed. "You were always difficult Butters."

"But Kenny, I don't think it's good for you working here." I insisted.

His smile faltered. "It isn't. There is the occasional barfight, violent customer. So on and so forth."

"Oh that's it, Mr, you're coming with me."

He had no objections. He dropped the martinis and followed me out.

**5. Untouched-The Veronicas**

Tweek dragged Craig roughly into the back room of his parents coffee shop. Tweek's fangs were falling out, and blood was dipping from his nose as an aftermath of the fight he and Craig had just been involved in. Craig's hat had dissapeared somewhere and his eye was already bruising.

"You are so hot." Tweek growled, pushing Craig into some shelves and crushing their lips together. His cloak fell off of its own accord, giving him an idea.

"You're bleeding." Craig stated.

"Well, no! Fucktard."

Craig quietened and allowed himself to be dragged onto a small table.

"We're going to have sex." Tweek insisted.

"Sir yes sir." Craig sighed, pulling off his emo jeans. That's what he came to the costume party as . An emo.

Tweek pulled off his trousers and didn't even wait for Craig to give him the go-ahead. He just went right on in there, making Craig scream a little.

"Shut up!" Tweek cried, a glimmer of his old paranoia apparent.

"Sorry, but you did just unceramoniously shove your dick in me!" Craig replied sarcastically. That was just Craig. Sarcastic sex. Mmm.

Tweek began to move, and eventually Craig stopped complaining and gave in, the party outside dissapearing, the world consisting of Tweek, and Tweek only.

"I love you." Tweek told him.

"You too." He gasped.

**6. CheaterCheaterBest Friend Eater-Nevershoutnever**

Phone's ringing again. Like I'm gona pick up. I know it's you, Kenny, don't pretend like I'm gona forgive you this time.

But we were so happy...Why would you do this? There's another thing, too, blaming it on me! It is _not_ my fault you felt the need to stick your dick in my best friend.

My Kyle.

And there's another message. How many is that now? You're not allowed to have me back, Kenny! If you really wanted me you wouldn't have slept with Kyle, now, would you?

There's the door. Probably Cartman come to bitch with me.

But it isn't. It's Kenny. I stand and stare at him, not knowing what to do.

"I love you." He tells me, and before I know it we're lying in bed, and he's kissing me.

Every time. Every fucking time! He's not good for me. He doesn't really love me.

But I forgive him everytime.

**7. I Write Sins Not Tragedies-Panic! At The Disco**

"He's a whore."

"He's a poor ass piece of shit."

"He gives blowjobs for five dollars."

"Last night, he stuck it in Kyle Broflovski. _And _Tucker!"

"Where'd you hear that?"

Seriously. This is what I hear, what I know Kenny hears, as we walk through the halls of our high school. If Cartman heard this, he'd be heartbroken. Since he and Kenny got together, he's become a lot less suspicious of everyone, and he's so, so gullible.

I decide to save him. I storm into the classroom, where the stupid bitching kids are lounging on desks.

"Quit talking about Kenny like that. I mean it." I warn.

"Butters, c'mon." Kenny calls, unaware that I'm saving his relationship.

"What are you gona do about it, wimp?" Asks the biggest kid.

"I tell you what I'll do...I'll...I'll..." I muster all my courage and blurt "I'll fuck you up, bitch!".

"Whoa." The kid says simply, I guess with the shock of hearing me swear.

"That's right." I tell him, and walk out.

**8. Hate (I Really Don't Like You)-Plain White Ts**

"Clyde. You need to quit it!"

"I loved him! He's a prick!"

"You sound schizophrenic, dude, calm down!"

"But I'm serious!"

"_Are_ you shizophrenic? Oh God Clyde, don't kill me!"

"I won't kill you Tweek."

"Good. Gah!"

Clyde unlocked the stall door. He surveyed Tweek innocently. Then he spotted himself in the mirror and groaned. "I'm a mess."

"You're not." Tweek assured him.

"Ugh." Was Clyde's response.

"You're always pretty. Craig's silly for not liking you anyomore."

Tweek's outlook on life was way childish, but right now it was all Clyde needed.

"Thanks Tweek."

He smiled "You're welcome. You can come to my house now, if you like. We'll have hot chocolate, and not coffee. You don't like coffee."

"I know that, Tweek. I'm me." Clyde laughed as Tweek blushed. Then he took Tweek's pale, cold hand and walked out of the bathroom.

"Hey Clyde"

"Fuck you, Craig."

And Clyde and Tweek, still holding hands, walked away from the boy who broke Clyde's heart. And it felt so good, and so right.

**9. Good Grls Go Bad-Cobra Starship**

"Hi Gregory!"

"Hey Greg!"

"Mm, Gregory...nice jeans!"

Gregory slicked back his hair and winked at the girls as they swooned. They waved and tittered and giggled together. The occasional brave one would approch him.

Gregory was the hot stuff at this school. It was the hair, the accent, the baby blues. It was just him.

But despite girls being so into him, Gregory had yet to have a girlfriend. He wondered why no girls had asked him out, if they liked him so much. Or did they expect him to make the first move?

Still, it was nice knowing he must be attractive.

The final _final_ bell rang, signalling that loitering students should leave now, lest they be pepper sprayed by the drunken janitor. Greogory quickened his pace, no longer acknowledging the simpering women around him.

Christophe waited for him outside, stradding his bike. Gregory gave a final wriggle of his butt for good measure and smiled. Christophe guffawed.

"You are zuch a faggot."

"Shush. The ladies love it."

Christophe raised an eyebrow. "You do realize, Greggerz, that zee girls pay you so much attention because Cartman told zem we are togezzer?"

Gregory froze, thought about it, then visibly shrunk.

"Just drive." He instructed, and Christophe chuckled beneath the noise of the engine.

**10. Girlfriend-Avril Lavigne**

_Who wears short shorts? _Kyle thought to himself amusedly as he entered Stan's house. Stan's mother stared at him a little, but Kyle just blew her a kiss and giggled before tramping upstairs.

He barged in, not caring that Stan and Wendy were most likely making out-or worse-in there. Stan stared. Wendy scowled.

"Whoa." Stan gushed. "You look...wow!"

"Thanks, Stan!" Kyle simpered, sitting beside his SBF and stretching his long, milk white legs. He kicked Stans phone, lying on the bed, to the floor.

"Oops, sorry, Stan!" He smiled, and bent over to pick it up. Wendy huffed impatiently and pulled Stan's head around to kiss him fiercely. But it was too late. Stan had already seen Kyle's amazing ass.

"Wendy, I love your hair today. Did you just shower, or something?" Kyle asked innocently. Wendy, oblivious, shook her head.

"Then why does it look wet?" Wendy remained silent. "Oh, _sorry_, it's grease, huh?" Kyle nodded knowingly.

"Gross!" Stan shied away from Wendy. She frowned, hurt. "That _is_ kinda sick dude, sorry." Stan apologised, not looking sorry at all. Kyle slid a hand behind Stan and pinched his ass. Stan jumped.

"Kyle!" Stan accused.

"Now, Stan, don't pretend you didn't enjoy it."

Stan blanched, as if he were about to throw up, when he met Kyle's eyes.

"That's it!" Wendy cried "I'm sick of this shit!" and she stormed out.

_Bingo_ Kyle thought, blinking innocently.

**A/N: I liked this...I'm going to do it whenever I feel like writing and don't have inspriation...**


	10. Tweek's Dilemma

Clyde x Tweek x Craig  
Track: Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls  
(Note: I'm still adding the finer points to my Dip story. I'm not a huge fan of that pairing so I've had to do some reading up, but it will appear soon enough...While you wait, please have this little nugget I dicovered lying around ;)

**I'm twitchy, I'm blonde, I'm way too caffienated. And today I did something horrible, wonderful, and amazing. **

The first thing I ever noticed about Clyde was his braces. They were really cute, and I wondered if they'd get caught on someone's lips, were they to kiss him. Then I blushed and grinned like a jittery fool.

The first thing I ever noticed about Craig was how small he was. He was smaller than me, and very, very skinny. I'm a little pudgy 'round the middle nowadays, nowhere near as pudgy as Cartman, but what you might call chubby. He was little and his hair was messy and he looked sleepy and pissed off.

The first time I really talked to Clyde was not the first time I made a connection with him. I watched Clyde a lot. He was interesting to me. He was normal. A guy like me likes normal people. Hanging out with them makes me feel normal. But Clyde was different from other boys. Other boys teased me because of my twitching and such. Clyde told me it was cute. The first time I connected with Clyde was at a concert we used to go to. Second Friday of every month, without fail. It was his first time, my twenty-first. I was freaking out. There was a boy there who made me nervous. I sat in the corner, and Clyde came to sit beside me. Kenny was slutting-out beside us and not really paying me any attention. I held onto Clyde's arm and he didn't leave my side all night. We didn't speak.  
Ever since then, I have had a huge crush on Clyde Donovan.

It was in the middle of the huge mess that is my life that Craig and I first kissed. I walked him halfway home in the wind. I almost blew over, but Craig was stronger than he looked. He pulled the stringy-things on his hood so he looked like Kenny used to, and I got brave and said "How am I supposed to kiss you oodnight if you cover your mouth?". Craig had pulled off his hood eagerly and puckered up.

We were in the same corner when Clyde and I first kissed, about three years ago. Let's see, we were playing dares. Me, Clyde, Kenny, Kyle, Bebe and Wendy. Stan was sick. Cartman never came. I had to kiss Bebe. It was aweful. She tasted fake. I had to kiss Kenny a lot. Kenny and I have a strange relationship. Really strange. But that's not the deal right now. The deal is that I got dared to kiss Clyde just before the lights came up.

Craig really changed. It's been a year and almost five months since we got together. He's way bigger than me now. Bigger and stronger. When we fight, I always lose. Because he's bigger than me.

The thing I really like about Clyde is that he doesn't seem to be able to take care of his teeth. Literally as soon as he got his braces off he chipped his tooth. It's a cute chip. I tell him so all the time. Everything about Clyde's mouth is cute or pretty or whatever you want to call it.

I used to think Craig and I would be together forever. It didn't matter that I'm an over-achiever and he never does any schoolwork. I could take care of us, of our family. It shouldn't matter that his dad's a drug dealer, or that his mother had him when she was sixteen. It shouldn't matter that all Craig does is go out with his strange friends and set fire to things.  
It does now. Now I have someone to compare him to.

Clyde isn't all that smart, but he tries. He has to. He wants to join the army, and you have to be the smallest bit academic for such things. I told him I didn't know what I should do, and he said I could be a writer. It's embarrassing that he knows I'm a good writer. But the only reason I can write about these horrible things so well is because I have been through them myself.

After thirteen months, Craig started to go weird. And I started to go weird too. All Craig wants to do is go out with his new friend Thomas. And all I want to do is come home and write. And write and write and write. And then, when it's late, Clyde calls. And we talk for hours. Craig and I never see eachother anymore. Apart from when Craig comes over for sex.

I used to love it. We're fifteen, which isn't the proper age. It seemed like a good idea at the time. But now it's different. During, I'm fine. But after, I feel disgusting. Maybe I don't love him. Because I wouldn't cry afterwards unless I loved him, would I?

The only reason I cried today was because I don't want to see Craig's face when I tell him I'm leaving.

Clyde met me outside the club we used to go to. We came to my house. We laughed and read comics and then we got into bed and watched a movie. A scary movie. I fell asleep. When I woke up Clyde was so close.

And I was sick of waiting any more.

When I kiss Craig, it's normal. He makes me smile. Or he used too.

When I kissed Clyde...it wasn't bad. But I know it wasn't good either.


End file.
